


and i you

by itainttreason



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6889987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itainttreason/pseuds/itainttreason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ben said goodbye. now all that's left is to remember how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SwingAndAMiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwingAndAMiss/gifts).



> this was a contest done with user RagtagArmy  
> we both had the same prompt and the winner writes the saddest one- personally, theirs crushed me with spot-on historical accuracy. that kid knows their Facts.

Benjamin could only faintly remember the illness, but memories of frail limbs and days when the only sun he could see was through a window merged too seamlessly with his day-to-day life and he could no longer tell the difference. What he could remember was that Caleb Brewster never lived to see his thirty-fifth birthday. He could remember the year Caleb had passed, and the small monument supporting him made it easier, the gouges in the stone marking a whole life. The grass had grown around the pale stone, making the plot seem comfortable, as if its inhabitant had settled with his lot long ago and took it upon himself to make it his. The stone felt cool on Ben’s back- the bones of his spine prodded the hard surface, but the rock refused to give. The grass felt cool beneath his body. Hardly proper testaments to its permanent tenant. Caleb Brewster had been heat- heat against Ben’s back, heat beneath his body… He closed his eyes. A memory came to him.

Caleb Brewster. Caleb. Caleb beside him, Caleb smiling, Caleb laughing. God, how he had missed that laugh, had missed it more than Setauket during the war, than his mother, at times. Caleb playing checkers with him. Saving Caleb’s skin. Caleb saving his skin. Caleb taking that ridiculous contraption, that machine aptly nicknamed the Turtle, to save Abe only to come home, empty-handed and clean-shaven. Ben remembered with a soft smile that the loss of the beard had been a larger betrayal to him than Abe refusing to leave the prison. How soft Caleb’s skin had felt! His hands hadn’t touched the others face since they had been children in sun-lit, lazy Setauket, running… Where had they been running? The orchard? In the moment of uncertainty, the memories changed. Warmth flared. His mind burned.

Trembling hands. Damp breath. Desperation. It was happening, what had waited for years, yearning after realization, was finally happening. Warmth. All he could remember was warmth, and Caleb’s smile- and Benjamin Tallmadge had never felt so whole in his entire life.

Trembling hands. Breath dry with fear, syllables chattering off sun-bleached bones- no, teeth- but the words still carried the faint stench of death. The mouth, set in a grimace- a smile? A skull’s smile. But the head still had flesh. “The palsy, Ben. ‘S caught up to me.” Benjamin Tallmadge had never felt so broken in his entire life.

Trembling hands. The fear was so strong now it was all Ben could do to distract Caleb. Kisses seemed to be a salve. Their sleepless nights were taken up with love and warmth, Ben trying his hardest to drive the tremble out of his other half, kissing his fingers, his palms, wherever the skin shivered. He thanked God that Caleb survived the winter- it had been particularly harsh and he could never keep him warm enough.

Washington was becoming impatient with the lack of information from the Ring and Ben could stave him off for only so long before he became suspicious and demanded to know what had been going on. He had stormed into Ben’s tent, wrapped in a rage that tore through boundaries like a bull through rice paper, and he had stormed in on them desperately trying to keep warm, entwined with each other, skin on shuddering skin. It was early, Ben remembered, because he could barely see the General’s face, but the disappointment and disgust dripped like spittle from Washington’s voice as he spoke in barely contained syllables, “Major Tallmadge. Explain to me what is happening here.”

Ben had sat up-

His eyes were filled with tears as he grasped the grass between his fingers. A shuddering old breath left him as a tear dripped down his cheek, and he leant against the cold stone behind him. But he had to remember. It wasn’t fair to Caleb to forget.

He had sat up. The cot had creaked beneath him as he clung to the blanket. Caleb struggled to sit up behind him, but he couldn’t. The palsy was too strong now- he needed help in and out of bed- his frustration jagged against Ben’s fear and anxiety and nearly overwhelmed him as he attempted to explain, as he attempted to survive. Attempted to save them both from the hangman’s noose, from a doubly dishonorable death- spies and sodomists? But Washington stopped him. Caleb had caught his attention.

“What is the matter with Lieutenant Brewster?”

“He- his… his family-,” Ben’s eyes swelled with tears, he was forced to choose between muffling himself or saving Caleb. A sob came as he continued. “-sir, his family- they- they have a history of the palsy, sir, and- he-.“ He couldn’t speak. The tears were coming too thick now, his nose was running, the tears were choking him as his hiccupy sobs chopped his speech.

“Enough, Major Tallmadge.” Washington’s voice was very nearly gentle; there was pity in it, and that softened the rage. He took Billy Lee aside and spoke softly to him- the poor man was distraught at the scene- but Ben heard him well enough.

“No need for a noose….Fatal….,” Billy added something- an inquiry- “no, no….demotion, yes….” They broke apart, and Washington returned his gaze to the two wretched souls before him.

“Major Tallmadge.”

“Yes, sir,” Ben replied stuffily, wiping his eyes and dragging the back of his hand below his nose like a child.

“You and Lieutenant Brewster will be stripped of your ranks, and you both will be sent to New York. I never want to hear from you or see your faces again. Your lives are my thanks for your service. Pack your things.”

Ben could feel Caleb burning with pent up rage and frustration behind him- he prayed the man would stay quiet, but it was worse when he did. Caleb sank back down onto the cot in defeat as Washington left the tent, his back shaking against the base of Ben’s spine. 

Every jolt of the wagon made Ben flinch. Every rock they went over, every waterbed, every godforsaken piece of debris on the godforsaken road jarred Caleb against the side of the wagon. He had tried to make room for his blanket-swathed form but the wagon was packed with supplies and other men. Men who were returning home, men who were going to their duties, men with promotions- the differences between them stuck a nail between Ben’s ribs and every jolt jimmied it closer to his heart. Caleb shook against him. The shivers were faint. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, but he seemed to be gazing down at one of Ben’s boots. He seemed comfortable enough- he hadn’t mumbled by Ben’s ear since they had gotten in. Ben couldn’t tell what Caleb had said, but it had been soft. It had sounded warm. Warmer than Caleb had been in months. His tone kept Ben warm throughout the trip, even as he dozed off…

The next memories were blurry, but burnt into his mind. They were like the skeletons of a forest fire, hidden deep in the foliage of the newer growth. Hard to recollect. He hadn’t tried in a long time. But he would do it now for Caleb.

The wagon shuddered to a stop and the travellers started to unwind stiff limbs, groaning and grumbling to themselves softly in the dewy morning light. Ben was rudely awoken by a foot in the calf and a muttered, “‘Pologies.” Ben had shot a petty, sleep-blurred glare at the man’s back before looking to his side. Caleb was still fast asleep- the dew had dampened his hair after his hat had come off in the night and it curled like drowsy snakes. Ben smiled, pulled himself up and gently replaced the hat on Caleb’s head before hoisting him into his arms. He was- oh, god- he was particularly careful not to wake him. 

The tears were coming back now. He struggled, stiff old limbs wiping at his eyes roughly, dragging the back of his hand below his nose like a child.

He had been so careful not to wake him. 

A woman looked over at him, curious as most are when someone is being carried, and he didn’t notice until the woman gasped softly and murmured, “God rest his soul,” before quickly crossing herself and stepping away with her husband, children in tow.

Ben huffed. He and Caleb had laughed over how people suspected those afflicted with palsy were taken by the Devil, but now that it was other people gasping at his friend he no longer found the superstition humorous. Until he realized-

The tremors had stopped. 

Ben’s heart slowed, stilled, as he looked down, horrified.

He was carrying a corpse. 

His horrified scream ended the memory as his cry of pain melded with the sobs his wrinkled lips now let fly. Hot tears gushed down his cheeks as he clung to the gravestone, the unmoving rock solid beneath his sob-wracked frame. 

He remembered the words Caleb had uttered into the shell of his ear as they were getting into the carriage. He remembered the beard pricking his earlobe as Caleb had whispered through a smile, “Love you, Tallboy.”

He spent his remaining hours on that earth murmuring into the stone his reply. 

“And I you, Caleb Brewster.”


End file.
